Toxic Treacle by Echo Freer

the cottage where Tragic and Jane were living, they stowed their bikes in an outbuilding and Monkey led Angel down the narrow lane. They were disappointed to find that the cottage was in darkness. Monkey knocked but there was no reply.
    â€˜Now what?’ Angel asked. ‘Shall we wait?’
    Monkey thought for a moment. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a look round.’
    Still disguised as adult nurturers, the two of them wandered along the main street of the village and past the green. The smell of wood smoke filled the damp air. Lights flickered in the windows of some of the cottages. A large building at the far end of the village caught their attention. It had lights illuminating every window and, as they approached, they could hear the sound of people talking inside. There was laughter, too, and what sounded like singing. A large wooden sign hung above the door with a picture of a figure with two faces, one male, one female and the words ‘The Volte Face’ written underneath.
    â€˜Looks like some sort of snug,’ Monkey whispered. He beckoned Angel to follow him down a narrow alley along the side, leading towards the back of the building. There were two windows that shone light onto the overgrown footpath. Monkey waved Angel to stay behind him, then carefully leant forward to peer in through the first window.
    He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand the scene in front of him. There were nurturers, providers and pres, all sitting around a roaring fire with glasses of keg in their hands and singing. Jane was there and a provider was sitting next to her - with his arm round her shoulder! Monkey gasped. He turned away from the window, shocked at the brazenness of his friend’s nurturer. He’d always thought of her as kind, caring and upright - not one of those charity-spins he’d heard about to whom providers went when they felt the need for comfort, long after their official breeding days were over.
    â€˜What is it?’ Angel whispered and leant forward to see for herself.
    But Monkey restrained her. ‘Don’t look,’ he warned. ‘I don’t want you to think badly of Tragic’s nurturer.’ He returned to the window and stared at Jane. The provider reached over and kissed her full on the lips, then pulled away, laughing. Jane was laughing too; her head thrown back in joy. Monkey had never seen her looking so relaxed - and beautiful.
    A roar went up and Tragic strode into the crowd. His eyes sparkled in the firelight and he looked happier than Monkey had ever seen him. Everyone raised their glasses and began singing Happy Birthday as though he was a bub again. No one sang at graduation parties - and no one drank keg either; they were just about wishing your friends well and giving them a gift to see them on their way on the next stage of their life. But then, Monkey witnessed the most shocking spectacle of all; a pre-nurturer, no older than Tragic, went up to him and kissed him - on the mouth! In front of everybody! And everyone cheered.
    Monkey moved away from the window and leant back against the wall, trying to make sense of it all.
    â€˜What’s happening?’ Angel asked, urgently.
    Before Monkey could reply, a deep male voice boomed along the footpath behind them, ‘That’s what I want to know!’

The State of the Nation
    The laughter and singing ceased and an uneasy silence descended on the birthday celebrations. Apart from the pain in his upper arm where a burly male was holding him tightly, Monkey was acutely aware that he was standing in the midst of a group of people wearing his nurturer’s skirt and his sister’s childhood dressing-up wig. It was hardly the first impression he might have hoped to make. With his free hand, he snatched the wig from his head and glowered balefully at the provider who held him captive.
    â€˜Monkey! Angel?’ Tragic was standing with one arm round the shoulder of a pre-nurturer